


late morning in may

by Allegria23



Series: second time around [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Being so In Love, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Married Characters, Middle-aged Quentin and Eliot, Queer Families, Queer Parenting, Romantic Fluff, Secure Relationship, queliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 13:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allegria23/pseuds/Allegria23
Summary: Eliot and Quentin take their children on an outing, and have a significant conversation.





	late morning in may

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all. I've been yearning for some stories where Eliot and Quentin are a happy, established couple and the drama isn't about conflict in their relationship, and also really wanting to explore them as an older couple, so I decided to start writing those stories. This ficlet takes place in the future, where they are in their early forties and have been married for some time, worked out most of their issues, and decided to have another family a while ago. At this point they are living in the US, on the East coast, and keeping the Magic on the subtle side, as young children have no discretion-- although this all may change. I am hoping this will be the beginning of a series.
> 
> This is my first work of fiction. I hope you'll like it.

It was late morning in May, and the air was warm, and the trees and the flowers and the sky were beautiful at the zoo. And Quentin was beautiful at the zoo. His soft brown hair was pulled back from his face in a loose bun, with bits of copper shimmering in the sunlight. His eyes sparkled when he laughed, and Eliot loved the little crinkles in their corners, now, the familiar and lovely pattern of the lines, almost as much as he loved Quentin’s dimples. Ok, nothing was as lovely, really, as Quentin’s dimples. But still. Eliot smiled a little and released their daughter’s hand as the family  reached the otter habitat. They stood in the shade and looked into the large pool, surrounded by artificial cliffs and perches, full of deep running water and toys. The children were rapt.

 

Eliot had been holding onto something for a little while, and decided to approach it from, well, slightly off to one side, he supposed. He leaned over to Quentin and said quietly, “Do you think we’re over-doing it with the traditionally-gendered clothing, I mean with our children? As a gay couple?”

 

Quentin froze for a second, as though being a statue would help that question make sense. He said, “Um, hang on honey, just a sec,” and stepped forward to help. “Margo, if you stand here and look right through there you can see the otters playing. Look how big and furry they are!”

 

Returning, Quentin repeated, “Do I think we’re overdoing it with traditionally gendered clothing? As a gay couple?” He sounded baffled. It wasn’t the “gay couple” part; that signifier had been settled comfortably ages ago, and mostly by Quentin. It was clearly that the entire question made so very little sense. But still, Eliot hoped it would somehow solve the problem he was having without requiring, well, too much _more._

 

“Yes,” said Eliot. Gamely, he hoped.

 

“Well,” Quentin started, “they’re both pretty much exhibiting fairly standard gender presentations. I mean, Margo’s extremely feminine, so far, and Harry’s been very clear that he only wants to wear ‘boy clothes.’ Plus, she gets some of his sturdier hand-me-downs and loves them, so she doesn't always look like Shirley temple, you know. But those little dresses and mary janes are hard to resist.”

 

Eliot had to agree. And after all, wasn’t it incumbent upon them to dress their children at least a little better than the norm? He meant, wasn’t it practically _required?_ Quentin was smiling softly as they watched their little girl running back and forth in front of the pool, giggling and following the swimming otters. Those beautiful golden curls had been a stroke of luck, Eliot mused, although he loved Harry’s sandy hair, too. Had loved it on three people, now.

 

Then, Quentin looked quickly around the area, and slid an arm around Eliot’s waist. This was a special trip to the zoo, for Margo’s third birthday. They were happy. It was a progressive city, and the crowds were light... Eliot thought about casting one of his nothing-to-see-here charms, so he could relax and be a bit affectionate with his husband in public, but decided against it. Better to let Q see that he was trying to be comfortable.

 

Eliot knew that he was stalling, however. “That’s not quite what I meant,” he said, as they followed the children down the ramp of Atlantic Shores, into the indoor viewing area for the seals. Both kids pressed their hands and noses up against the glass of the giant tank to watch the graceful animals swim.  He continued, “I mean, for instance, this morning I put Harry in those sandals because I couldn’t bring myself to put him in pink socks.” It should have been funny, he thought, that statement, but he was sure that Q could hear worry and sadness there, as though he was asking for help. He supposed he was.

 

Quentin didn’t get it. He explained, adorably, “But pink socks would have matched, look, there are pink stripes in his shirt, and you know it’s his favorite color. That’s why he has so many.”

 

Eliot was quiet for a minute. Hell, he was going to have to just say it. He wasn’t proud of it. “I don’t want him to get bullied.”

 

And oh. Quentin looked like that _hurt,_ a little bit, and the look that he was giving him was so soft and knowing. Sometimes it was still hard to accept, to fathom, being so _understood._

 

“Well,” Quentin said, seriously, “here’s how I see it. And you don’t have to agree, of course, and we can keep talking about it, ok?” Eliot nodded as they followed the kids to a tank of large tropical fish.  “Ok, so, we’re a queer family, right? I mean, I don’t just mean that we’re two dads, I mean that we’re _not_ just raising kids as part of the dominant culture and we happen to be two guys. It’s more than that, it means more than that.” He swallowed, paused, as though he might be a little nervous. But no. Eliot wanted to hear this, did not want Quentin to get self-conscious and derail himself here, and he focused on him, practically _willing_ him to fathom the respect that he had for him in that moment, and how much he wanted to hear what he had to say. Apparently bolstered, Quentin continued: “The queer community is important to me. Out history is important to me, and the gay rights movement, and all of the culture, the literature, the art… Our family is part of that. I hope our kids will always feel like they’re part of it, because we are. It’s something to be proud of, and as a parent, it’s something that I’m choosing to lean into.”

 

Wow, that was a lot. And Eliot, not for the first time, found himself overwhelmed with the utter fucking _privilege_  of being _married_ to this man. The kids were talking about clownfish and anemones-- he had a moment to focus on just Q-- and Eliot worked his fingers in a quick tut, deciding that this deserved some privacy. He stepped very close to Quentin and took his face in his hands.  “Q,’ he said intently, looking into Quentin’s eyes, “you’re amazing. How did I ever become so lucky that you chose me? How do we get to have this? I mean, twice?”

 

Quentin rose up and kissed him sweetly, a gentle, tender kiss. Warm. “I didn’t have any choice when I fell in love with you,” he said. Eliot smiled softly, “But you chose to stay.” Quentin wrapped his arms around Eliot and leaned against his shoulder. “Yes.” Simply that.

 

They walked together for a bit, Eliot’s arm around Quentin’s shoulders, Quentin’s arm around Eliot’s waist. The conversation wasn’t over, but then a little girl’s hand needed to be held as she balanced along a short raised wall, and their son wanted to know what sun bears were, exactly, so interpretive charts had to be consulted. Caramel corn was passed out, and the family paused to watch the elephants.

 

This was peaceful; this was, in so many ways, just goddamned _perfect,_ but Eliot’s concern was not gone. He hated it, a little, but it was still there, and he knew better than to just leave it. “I love that you feel that way, Q,” Eliot continued, and meant it, “but I’m worried about keeping him safe. Don’t you think it’s already going to draw enough attention to him, having two dads? When he realizes that people don’t like that, when he feels hurt by that, it’s going to be heartbreaking. We’ll have to be prepared, to… to build him up, Q. To get him through that. He’s so sensitive...” He paused, “ I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t think that day is far off, and I think it might be kindest, or at least it would be  _safest,_ to try to help him fit in.” And yep, he hated that. But there it was.

 

Quentin nodded almost imperceptibly, a small signal to Eliot to ask for time to think. He pursed his lips and took hold of the railing in front of them, looking off over the landscape, but he leaned his shoulder softly into Eliot’s arm as they stood together. A reassurance that they stood _together._ Eliot knew that he was protective, and he knew that Quentin knew it. He wondered if they were going to have to discuss his past, again, to try to take apart which part of this fear was from now, and which was maybe from then, and how to parse all of that. He would talk about all that with Quentin, if he had to, but he was at this point hugely relieved when Q simply said,  “Sounds like you’re maybe not so worried about Margo?”

 

Eliot chuckled, part humor and part relief, “I’m not. I think that, if anyone gives her any grief about her family, she’ll take their heads off. Even at three.”

 

Quentin stifled a laugh. “Yeah, you’re not wrong.” He turned to face Eliot and placed a hand on the crook of his arm, reassuring. His eyes sparkled, relaxed but also full of conviction and energy, and Eliot met them. (Gorgeous. but. Focus.)  “Well,” Quentin said, “Try thinking about it this way. What kind of young man are we raising, together? I want to teach him to stick up for himself, and know who he is and where he comes from and what he likes, and be comfortable about that, right?” “Right,” said Eliot, immediately, encouraging this train of thought. Quentin continued, “So, so long term, think about it… we’re either raising a straight guy who is confident in who he is, and kind, and a great, um, _ally_ to women and the queer community and hopefully people of color if we can manage that, or… or else we’re raising a queer guy who is also confident and kind and has a real sense of who he is and his own value, and all of the rest of those values, too. So, um, in either case, I really think that pink socks need to be okay. And everything that, you know, pink socks stand for, in this conversation.”

 

Quentin had clearly gotten a little flustered, getting all of that out. Eliot watched as he lifted Margo off of the chain link fence, then dropped her carefully when her swinging feet kicked him in the shins. Eliot laughed to himself. He couldn’t help it. Q was so _dear._ Smart and brave and ridiculous and perfect. He just. Loved him _so much_ . Quentin looked back at Eliot, and he _saw it,_ and Eliot saw his breath hitch, the tiniest gasp _._ Eliot stepped forward and lifted Harry, unnecessarily, off of the chain link fence and just hugged him to himself briefly before letting him down, ruffling his sandy hair and stepping back toward Quentin.

 

“All right,” Eliot said, quietly, having decided. “So… yes to pink, and don’t take any shit from the muggles. We’ll step in for him when we need to... we both know we can do that.  But Q, kindergarten may not be bad, but school tends to get worse. It was so bad, for me.” He took a long pause, staring into the distance, and reached for Quentin’s hand. “This was easier in Fillory.”  

 

“I know, El,” said Quentin, blinking as his eyes began to fill, “it was. But they’ll have a better childhood than you did, than either of us did, really. I promise.”

 

Eliot released Quentin’s hand and reached for him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and kissing his head as he tucked him against his shoulder. “I love you,” he said softly.

 

“I love you, too,” said Quentin, encircling his waist and squeezing back.  They held one another close, and the feelings of safety and warmth and home and _ours_ lingered after they finally let go.

 

Eliot took Margo’s hand, and Quentin took Harry’s, and the four of them headed off, down the shaded path.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
